Delicate
by TheGrayson
Summary: Five times Wolfram is pretty, and fragile, and delicate. And the one time he's had enough. Because Wolf is more than just a bishounen.


**Disclaimer: I don't own.**

**Five times Wolfram is pretty, and fragile, and **_**delicate.**_

**And the one time he's had enough.**

* * *

1

Conrart has never been more scared in his life.

Yes, there was a sort of quiet terror he felt when he led the Lüttenburg platoon into what was sure to be their last battle, but that was dulled down with sad acceptance and fierce loyalty. Plus, the exhilaration he had felt when he looked up after the last body had fallen only to see Yozak grinning from across the field had made it all sort of worth it.

There was also his first ever _real_ battle, when he was no more than seventy-two, riding into the von Christ lands with Günter and Gwendal at his flanks. He had been terrified then, too, but there was something about knowing that his older brother and teacher were at his side that calmed him.

Now, he had no such reassurance. Instead, there was just him and his wits.

And his baby brother, bound and gagged at his side.

Although young, Wolfram had already been on his first war-trip, a three-day excursion into the depths of the bandit-laden Rivendell Forest with his two brothers and his own personal guard. This was his second outing, and already it had gone sour.

Wolfram had grudgingly accepted the fact that he'd have to go with Conrart—ever since he found out about Dan Hiri Weller, he'd been nothing but crass towards his Little Big Brother. But this trip was to investigate human uprisings along the borders, and with every human uprising, there was the threat of houjutsu.

So Gwendal had put his foot down and firmly demanded that Conrart go with Wolfram, just in case.

The scorch mark in Gwendal's office had been covered by a bookshelf.

But when the two Mazoku princes had finally reached their first destination, they had been ambushed by humans wielding houseki stones, and Wolfram, being the strongest majutsu user, had also been the first to fall.

And Conrart, heart stinging painfully in fear, had ordered Wolfram's men back to get help (because it wasn't as if they were of any use now) while he fought against the humans until he had been knocked out.

Which left him as he was now, cold, bound, and alone with his barely conscious little brother.

At least he wasn't gagged. And, even better, the wall behind them was made of crude, sharp stone, and if Conrart twitched his bound wrists at just the right angle, the ridges of the stone would cut into the rope. If he had his way, they'd be out of here by nightfall.

"Are you alright?" he questioned quietly, not really expecting a response. As he predicted, Wolfram glared at him and then turned his head away from his brother.

Well, if he had enough strength to be bratty, then the houseki wasn't affecting him too badly, which Conrart was grateful for. There had been something so horribly off about seeing Wolfram weak and curled up on the battlefield, not even attempting to get up and fight.

The door to their holding cell suddenly opened, and a tall human man walked in, smiling vindictively.

"Lord Weller," he boomed, and Conrart glared at him. "And little Lord von Bielefeld, it's so nice to see you again."

"Again?" Conrart questioned, aching to get more time to free himself. Behind his back, he rubbed his wrists furiously against the stone.

"I only saw you when you babies," the man shrugged, and Conrart found himself wondering how he knew him His entire childhood had basically been in Blood Pledge castle, after all. "My father was a minor minister, and my mother was a simple human girl. It was a hard relationship, but a happy one."

"I'm so glad," Wolfram suddenly cut in, voice biting. Somehow, the gag had slipped down around his neck. "But, pray tell me, why does your father's lowly love life have to do with us?"

"My father died a few years ago," the man continued, frowning. "and my family was set to receive his inheritance, but thanks to a law that your mother never repealed, lands in Shin Makoku cannot be passed down to persons of human descent."

Ah, so that was what this was about.

"Well," Conrart began evenly, frowning. "Then go and take it up with my mother now, I'm sure she's be most sympathetic."

"It's too late now," the man snarled. "Our lands have already been possessed and my late father will never be able to know that his children are safe. I thought it would be only fitting to give the same privilege to the Maou, which is why at sunrise tomorrow, you'll both be dead."

Twitch. Conrart rubbed his wrists faster.

"I'm sure that we can—"

The brown-haired soldier was cut off by his indignant little brother.

"You insolent whelp! You honestly think that you, lowly human scum, can think about killing us, the Mazoku princes of the Great Demon Kingdom?" Wolfram was panting with the effort of speaking against the lingering effects of the houseki, his green eyes impossibly wide and flashing.

The man leered down at him suddenly, and Conrart felt his gut twisting.

"Maybe _you_ I won't kill," the man purred, leaning down and wrapping his fingers around Wolfram's chin, tilting his head up. "After all, you're quite pretty. Perhaps I have a better use for you."

Rubbing his wrists desperately, Conrart glanced at his Wolfram, only to be floored by the fear and revulsion in his large eyes. Conrart gasped at the sudden snapping sensation in his stomach, and then his vision turned red. Because nobody, _nobody,_ got to make Wolfram look scared like that.

With one mighty twist Conrart's hands were free, and although his ankles were still loosely tied, he didn't even notice them as he launched himself to his feet and cracked his hands into the man's neck in quick succession.

The man—they never even found out his name—slumped to the ground.

Breathing heavily, Conrart undid the knots around his legs and then turned again to Wolfram, who was staring wide-eyed at the man on the floor.

"Are you alright?" Conrart asked for the second time that day. Wolfram opened his mouth, seemed to think better of it, and closed it again.

"I'll be fine," he finally said, looking away. He spared one last glare at the man on the ground, and then turned back to his older brother. "Thanks."

Conrart smiled. Well, at least they were both alive. But when he got home, he was going to make sure that Wolfram would never go anywhere unaccompanied ever again.

Just to be safe.

* * *

2

If there was one thing Gwendal absolutely hated, it was Lovers' Day.

Really, it was bad enough to see couples fawning over each other at the most inappropriate of times (because was holding hands at the dining table ever really necessary?) but to have an _entire day_ dedicated to being sappy and crude and _gross?_

To the young demon soldier, it was unthinkable.

Yes, there was some part of him deep, deep inside that was vaguely flattered when Dakaskos dropped of heaps of love letters at his desk—not that he'd ever admit that to anybody—and it was rather amusing to see Gunter running away from crazed village women who'd drugged the guards and slipped through the gates.

But the fun all slipped away when he saw his mother sitting in her throne, enjoying the affections of dozens of men, especially when Gwendal knew that none of them would ever come close to being a father for him or his brothers.

It was just as bad to hear about the betting pool from the maids—there were always bets on him and Anissina magically getting together, but thankfully the redheaded inventor seemed to share his disgust about Lovers' Day, although hers stemmed from a different reason entirely. ("Really, to see women degrading themselves and acting like lovesick dogs! Just another way men have monopolized society!")

But no, the worst part about Lovers' Day was Wolfram.

Well, not Wolfram himself. Just the drama that surrounded Wolfram every year.

He knew his littlest brother was pretty—after all, he was the spitting image of their mother, and Gwendal wasn't foolhardy enough to think that Cecilie von Spitzweg was not the fairest maiden in all the land. Yes, even Wolfram's violent temper and heated attitude wasn't enough to deter his throngs of admirers away from his golden locks and emerald eyes and ivory skin.

Or at least, that's how everybody described the young Mazoku prince.

(And honestly, in Gwendal's opinion, Wolfram was far too young to ever be thought of in such a way. After all, he had only just celebrated his sixty-first birthday. He should be focusing on things like horseback riding and majutsu techniques. He should be playing with the teddy bear Gwendal made him for his tenth birthday. He should still be whining about wanting to hear bedtime stories before getting tucked into his gilded mahogany crib.)

After all, Gwendal had a right to be protective. Without a father in the castle—unless you counted Gunter as their father, but that was just _weird—_Gwendal was the one who had taken up the role. He was the one who had perfected Conrart's sword technique. He was the one who had taught Wolfram how to use Majutsu. He was the one who had instructed Wolfram on how to ride a horse. He was the one who had hand-picked Wolfram's personal guard (so maybe they were all a bit in love with him, so what? It just meant they'd be more loyal.)

So maybe Gwendal had a bit of a brother complex, but that was a good thing, right? After all, it wasn't as though he had a father who would do this ultra-protectiveness-thing for him.

And it was with these thoughts running through his head that Gwendal turned a corner in Blood Pledge Castle and stumbled across his baby brother, cowering under a table.

"Big Brother? Is that you?" Large, mournful green eyes peeked up at him, the rest of his face hidden in shadows.

Gwendal stood still for a moment before kneeling down, coming to eye level with his brother. "Why are you hiding here? Shouldn't you be at lessons?"

"I'm not going to lessons," Wolfram said stubbornly, the note of defiance in his voice undermined by the way his chin was trembling.

"I see," Gwendal lied, lowering himself until he sat cross-legged next to his brother, half-under the table. "So is it von Christ or Lady Julia that is bothering you today? Strange, I would have thought Julia would have been better at avoiding all this silliness."

"It's not them that are the problem," Wolfram cut in, sounding so bossy that Gwendal almost smiled. He must have gotten it from his father, although Gwendal remembered Lord von Bielefeld as a very gentle man. Lady Cecilie, then.

"Well, if your teachers aren't the problem, then I suppose you're hiding like a coward for no reason a—"

"It's Lord Manfred!" Wolfram blurted out, suddenly. He shied away from his brother, ears redder than the piping on his white shirt. "He's been… bothering me."

"Bothering you," Gwendal repeated evenly, stomach twisting a bit.

He had never liked Manfred von Gyllenhaal, never mind that his brother was one of the Ten Nobles. The pig-headed blonde had always been lazy and arrogant, only determined about one thing alone—Wolfram.

"He's been following me all day" Wolfram continued, frowning. "And he likes touching my hair too much. I think he's going to slap me."

Gwendal froze just as the earth started rumbling. A moment later it quieted as Gwendal controlled his flaring maryoku.

"He's been talking about it a lot," Wolfram added, staring worriedly up at Gwendal. "And he says that I will have to be the bride. Tell me, Aniue, will you make me wear a dress and send me away to get married?" Wolfram's big green eyes were beseeching, and for a moment Gwendal remembered his mother looking like that at Dan Hiri right before he left for the last time.

Holy bearbees. He was feeling faint.

"You're not getting married until you are four hundred years old," Gwendal said firmly, and Wolfram looked mortified for a moment before giggling.

"You can't do that to me, Big Brother, because then how old will that make you?"

"I don't care. Don't make me make this an order! As Crown Prince, I can tell you do get married whenever I want."

A little mouth fell open. "Aniue! You promised you'd never pull rank! Aniue!"

Gwendal laughed, standing quickly and sprinting out the hallway, grabbing Conrart's hand and pulling him along when he nearly ran into him in the doorway. Wolfram was still unevenly running after them, yelling furiously.

Just another typical Lovers' Day.

And if Manfred von Gyllenhaal was chosen as Anissina's next test subject, it was no matter to Gwendal.

It wasn't like he'd ordered it or anything.

* * *

3

Lady Cecilie von Spitzweg was many things: beautiful, wealthy, intelligent, beautiful, influential, beautiful, powerful, and beautiful.

And of all those qualities, it was no surprise that she was known mostly for her beauty. Because what queen was more loved than a _beautiful_ queen?

And out of all her children, only one had inherited her beauty.

Now, she wasn't at all implying that Conrart or Gwendal were ugly, because there was something about their quiet stoicness that was alluring to many girls. But they had inherited all their looks from their fathers—who also, in Cecilie's opinion, were fine hunks of man meat.

But it was Wolfram who had inherited _her_ beauty.

Well, in a way he looked like his father, since Lord von Bielefeld had been well known for his flaxen hair and dazzling jade eyes. (After all, it was a trademark of the Bielefeld hereditary line.) In fact, Wolfram's parents had looked so alike that they had been christened the "Golden Pair" and had been the talk of Shin Makoku for decades.

(Well, _decade._ Cecilie's last marriage had barely even lasted ten years before Wolfram's father was overpowered in human territories and killed. It was when his bloodstained uniform was mailed back to Blood Pledge Castle that Lady Cecilie von Bielefeld returned to her maiden name and vowed never to wed again.)

It wasn't entirely her fault. Anybody would be helpless when it came to dealing with the youngest Mazoku prince. His large green eyes reminded people of baby rabbits and ducklings. His sleep-tousled hair only made him look more adorable, especially when paired with his baby blue nightie and fuzzy white socks. He was prone to crying a lot, especially when he fell off his four-foot-high pony and into the dusty floor of the private stables.

So maybe she was a bit blindsided when it came to her youngest. She was allowed to be a little blindsided, she was the queen.

Besides, she already had two ultra-competent, sword-wielding sons, and her prayers to Shinou for a daughter had only been granted in a rather delicate-looking son. A delicate-looking son who looked far too gentle and sweet to be fighting in wars, just like his father had. (Although, really, Wolfie had inherited her fiery personality—it was so lovely, really. They could become a fire-wielding mother-son duet of sorts. They could even wear matching hats!)

It was for this reason that Wolfram hadn't been allowed outside of the castle gates until he was fifty—and even then, he had been accompanied by Gwendal and so many palace guards that it would have been nearly impossible for an attacker to _look_ at him, let alone try to ambush him. It was also the reason why the young, blonde prince hadn't been allowed to train his majutsu until he was thirty and it became physically dangerous to everybody else. And when his brothers had already learned enough swordsmanship to fight in the army, Wolfram was restricted to learning healing.

Because even though Cecilie was more of a beauty queen than a diplomatic one, she was a mother first. And mothers always worried.

* * *

4

Wolfram was standing in the middle of the training ground, the weak sunlight illuminating his hair until it nearly hurt to look at him.

Yozak still couldn't believe it.

"I can't believe you gave him _a private guard,_" he complained, and Conrart, sitting next to him, smiled crookedly in return.

"He asked Gwendal first," the brown-haired man shrugged, gesturing toward the battalion of ten men, lined up in front of the blonde prince with stiff backs. "And you know as well as I do that Gwendal will never say no."

"Your brother's got a backbone of steel," Yozak muttered sarcastically, shielding his eyes. A private guard. That would have been some nice money. Too bad it was a demon-only group. Even though Yozak's father had boasted impressive water-wielding skills, Yozak possessed no such magic himself.

"Well, would you like to be the one to deny Wolfram something he wants?" Conrart replied, amused.

Yozak looked away, turning back to look at the young fire-wielder, who was now showing a man the proper stance for a quick offensive attack. There was something about the blonde's eyes that made Yozak remember someone else.

Her name had been Merida, and although she had the same fiery red hair as Yozak (just as all the Gurriers did) her eyes had been the same jade color as Wolfram's. She had died the first time their village had been raided by an anti-Mazoku human extremist group, right before Yozak and his mother had moved the secret camp Dan Hiri had helped protect.

His baby sister would have been seventy-three this year.

And maybe that's why Yozak felt so uncomfortable about Wolfram going off to war. Because he missed his sister, not because the hotheaded prince (who despised anything even remotely human, including his own brother) was somewhat endearing with his fragile looks and delicate frame.

Which, of course, were completely misleading, since Yozak had been on the receiving end of Wolfram's fury and knew full well how un-delicate the boy really was.

("Why is this human filth in the castle? Is it another poverty-stricken charity case that Weller has dragged in from a half-fledged camp?")

But still. Wolfram was too young, too little and helpless and _small_ to be fighting in a war.

It didn't help that Yozak had known the youngest prince ever since he was practically a baby; the day after he had met Conrart, he had snuck into the palace grounds to see his new (and only) friend again, only to notice that Conrart was occupied, having to take care of his baby brother until Gwendal was done with his studies. Wolfram had been the first to notice Yozak hiding in the shadow of a large potted plant, and had immediately demanded that his Little Big Brother check out the intruder because, "Conrart, I think his head's on fire."

After Conrart had discovered his new friend and had calmly assured his brother that "no Wolfram, his hair is just orange, not on fire" and Yozak had timidly introduced himself to the baby prince, Wolfram had scowled, jutted his chin out, and demanded that Yozak play Warlords and Damsels with him, and that Yozak would be the damsel because Wolfram was tired of wearing dresses.

"Yeah, whatever," Yozak finally conceded, nodding. "But don't you think he's a bit young? I mean, the next thing you know he'll want to go off on his own and fight…"

"One day," Conrart agreed, looking pained. "But until then we'll just let him train with his guard so he feels like he's doing something. After all, he's just been cooped up in here."

Yozak snorted, "While we've been off living the high life in the war."

"That's how he sees it."

"That's stupid."

"Are you willing to tell him that?"

"Only if Gwendal sings at my funeral."

"Maybe if you buy him chocolates…"

"Shut up, Weller."

* * *

5

If there was one thing that never ceased to confuse Yuuri about Mazoku, it was their appearance.

Sure, they were daunting—especially people as big as Adalbert or as cunning as Raven. But that wasn't it at all. The thing was, all demons were _beautiful._

Just look at Lady Cecilie. She had to be well into her two hundreds (considering Gwendal was one-hundred-and-thirty) but she looked younger than Yuuri's own mother. And really, there was no denying how beautiful she was.

Even Gisela and Anissina were lovelier that any girl Yuuri had ever seen back on Earth, and he had read a lot of Playboy. Plus, seeing girls like Elizabeth, Lady Flurin and the Shrine Maidens, Yuuri had come to the conclusion that there simply was no thing as an "ugly girl" in the other world. Heck, even Yozak cross-dressing was vaguely attractive.

But even more than the girls, Shin Makoku was filled with attractive _boys_.

Like Conrart with his smile, or Gwendal with his calmness, or even Gunter with his fine features and rather pretty hair. Even Alford had eyes that Yuuri would gladly stare into for years—not that he would ever admit that.

But perhaps one of the prettiest boys Yuuri had ever seen was Wolfram.

Yuuri had read enough manga to know that Wolfram was the classic definition of a bishounen (and a tsundere too, but that was a whole other matter). In fact, Yuuri's first thought upon seeing the fiery blond ex-prince was that he really would make such a pretty girl.

Maybe there was just something about his slim figure that reminded Yuuri of girls, or maybe it was the fact that he had eyelashes longer than anybody's Yuuri's ever seen before. Maybe it was due to the fact that Wolfram looked just like his mother, and that if his hair was just a bit longer and he magically grew boobs, then there would be no telling them apart.

Maybe it was the fact that Yuuri saw Wolfram in a frilly pink nightgown every night. Yuuri preferred _girls_, thankyouverymuch, but damn.

It was probably Wolfram's big green eyes, Yuuri decided, because they were so large and emerald and just a shade greener than eyes ought to be. Or quite possibly it was his hair which made him so beautiful, a fluffy blonde halo just a bit lighter than Celi's but dark enough to seem natural—barely. Wolfram was very surreal, Yuuri thought, frowning a little. He was too perfect. It almost hurt to look at him.

Except, of course, Wolfram wasn't perfect, because he shouted a lot and got jealous constantly and had a temper bigger and more volatile than a deranged sand bear.

But still, it was pretty obvious why Wolfram had been called the "beloved Golden Prince" when Lady Celi had been Demon Queen.

"Wimp!" Wolfram suddenly declared, jolting Yuuri out of his haze. Yuuri blinked furiously, his eyes refocusing on the pile of paperwork on the desk in front of him. Oh, yeah.

"These papers aren't going to sign themselves!" Wolfram snapped, shoving an armload of files at the confused double black. "Hurry up, I promised Greta that we'd have afternoon tea, but if you insist on being this slow then I'll just have to tell her that her wimpy father was being too obstinate to spend time with her."

"Geez, Wolf," Yuuri groaned, smacking a hand to his head dramatically. "You don't have to be upset. I'll be done in time for tea, I promise." Not likely. This stack had accumulated for over a week, and normally it would take at least two days for Yuuri to read, review and sign each document. He definitely wouldn't be done by afternoon tea, and then he was going to have to deal with a disappointed daughter and a steaming fiancé.

Ugh. Why did Yuuri put up with Wolfram anyway? Sure, he was pretty, but a lot of people were pretty. Just look at Elizabeth. Or Lady Flurin.

Just then, the sun peeked out through the windows and a ray of light hit Wolfram, making his hair glow and his skin shine like white marble. Wolfram frowned a bit, and then smoothed down his cravat before taking a seat next to Yuuri. Staring at Yuuri for just a moment, the blond ex-Prince reached out and grabbed a stack of paper. Neatly taking a pre-inked quill, Wolfram stuck his tongue out and neatly flourished Yuuri's signature across the bottom of a page.

Yuuri blinked. "Did you just… forge my signature?"

Wolfram shifted, biting his lip nervously. "I know it's against the rules, but, I figured you need some help if you want to finish on time. Wimp."

Yuuri smiled. Oh yeah, that's why he put up with Wolfram.

* * *

+1

The attack at the Maou's Autumn Banquet had been totally unsuspected.

Maybe that was why it had been so successful. Gwendal had been caught totally unaware—he had been resting in his office, unwilling to spend an evening so obviously in the public eye, and had been immediately felled when five humans had burst in, each wielding a houseki stone the size of a small melon.

Conrart had fared somewhat better—after he had hidden an incapacitated Gunter in a small side room, he had immediately leapt up and killed at least ten of the humans, but the sheer numbers flooding into the banquet hall had kept the brunet soldier too occupied to do any real damage.

And with his older brothers occupied and his mother and Yozak taking care of business on their side of the massive banquet hall, that left Wolfram alone to protect Yuuri.

It was fortunate that it was tradition for the Maou to carry a sword at formal events, so Yuuri at least had Morgif to help him, although the king was far too green to attempt to kill a human attacker. His blond fiancé had fared better—Wolfram's sword was swift and his fire attacks were even swifter. It was a miracle that the blond Mazoku hadn't been brought to his knees with the effects of the houseki, but a strange mixture of adrenaline and desperation had kept Wolfram going long past his limits.

Until a scowling human leapt up and slashed Wolfram through the middle with a long, jagged blade.

Yuuri could only watch, horrified, as Wolfram stumbled a bit before dropping heavily to his hands and knees, breathing harshly while trying to stem the blood flow. Across the hall Conrart shouted, his blade flashing as the older soldier furiously tried to fight his way to his baby brother's side.

Wolfram grabbed his sword and stuck it into the floor, using that as leverage to push himself back up to his feet. The human who had attacker him—a tall, thin man with a vertical scar along his jaw—appraised him coldly, stepping back a bit in order to give Wolfram some space, smiling cruelly.

Yuuri felt himself yell as Wolfram drew his sword with visible effort and stepped in front of him. Already he could see the blood dripping to the floor.

"Wolfram, back down! You can't win this!"

Wolfram didn't turn to face him, but Yuuri could tell he was angry by the way his shoulders set and his posture straightened.

"I'm sorry, Yuuri, but as your guard, it's my du—"

"No," Yuuri cut him off loudly. "This is too dangerous for you! I order you to stand down!"

Wolfram dropped into a fighting stance. "Stop telling me what's too dangerous!" With an angry yell, Wolfram ran forward again, moving with a speed Yuuri wouldn't have thought possible from a person who'd been badly wounded only a few minutes ago.

Conrart suddenly appeared next to Yuuri, panting heavily, clothes ripped and splattered with blood. He looked anguished as he stared at Wolfram, eyes narrow with concern and fierce protectiveness.

Wolfram, as if sensing this, turned around and met his brother's eyes, swiftly side-stepping an attack aimed towards his face. "I swear, Conrart, if you try to interfere…"

Conrart's face was pinched. "It's too risky, you can't take him."

"That's right, pretty boy," the man with the scar sneered, drawing Wolfram's attention. "Just stop fighting and go back to being beautiful."

There was utter silence for a moment until Wolfram's hands erupted in flames.

"Will you all stop telling me what I can or can't do!" Wolfram burst out, a table nearby immediately combusting. The human opponent stared at it for a moment before a lion made of fire descended upon him, slashing at his face and clawing at his middle. In just a few moments, the man who had been fighting against Wolfram was dead and lying in pieces on the floor.

"I don't need people to tell me that I'm not strong enough," Wolfram bit out, flinging an arm out and immediately scorching his way through fifteen more men.

"I don't like it when people tell me I'm too young," Wolfram growled, his sword making quick work of three men at once.

"And for Shinou's sake, STOP TELLING ME I'M TOO PRETTY."

The entire hall suddenly burst into flames, and when they subsided a few moments later, all the humans were lying on the floor, Wolfram breathing heavily through his nose in the middle of all the carnage.

Across the hall, Lady Cecilie and Yozak blinked in disbelief.

Coughing self-consciously, Yuuri stepped forward until he could lay a hand on Wolfram's shoulder. "Uh, Wolf—"

"Not now, Yuuri," Wolfram scowled, shrugging off Yuuri's hand.

Yuuri tried again, "Um, Wolf, you're still bleeding."

The blond Mazoku looked down in surprise, only to notice that yes, the deep wound in his gut was still steadily leaking blood. Conrart smiled gently and grabbed Wolfram's arm.

"Let's go get Gisela to look at this," he said easily, pulling his little brother along. "Also, I think Gwendal might need some help."

Wolfram sniffed, and then yanked his arm free of Conrart's grip.

"Fine. But only because this blood is staining my uniform."

* * *

…**over 5000 words. Oh yeah.**

**Hope you have fun reading this—it was a bitch to write. Just sayin'.**

**Please review!  
-TOG **


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